


Abu Dhabi 2035

by Charona



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Banter, Coming Out, Daniel is a TV presenter, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Kids, M/M, Max's last race of his career, everyone is older and still sticks around the paddock, this is impossible to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charona/pseuds/Charona
Summary: It’s the last race of the season and the last race for a very special driver, who’s going to hang up his leathers and wants to leave with a bang – because six times World Champion Max Verstappen wouldn’t be Max Verstappen, if he didn’t make it worth it, he’s decided to make an important statement.The motto is “A guide to how to end things on a high note” and Max will give it his best, with Daniel by his side as always.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 22
Kudos: 146





	Abu Dhabi 2035

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> This was once a prompt by someone on tumblr and it took me ages to finish it.  
> I did some math in here and (the untalented idiot I am) there might be some mistakes, but I hope you enjoy this!  
> Utter fluff incoming ;)

_"So, is Max Verstappen going to retire after this race? The man, who has it all – 6 titles in 8 years with Red Bull. The man who built Red Bull and won his first title in 2024, after they managed to dethrone Mercedes. The man, who we thought would hang up his boots after losing the last 5 Championships to Charles Leclerc and Ferrari, who managed to just stay ahead of the bulls in the standings. Will the fiercest of fights in Formula One come to an end this year or will Verstappen extend his contract? Most importantly – will he win this battle now and become Champion once again?”  
“I think so, Tom. Charles is way back in ninth place after a puncture, as he touched wheels with George Russell in the Mercedes. Max leads this race and just 10 points will be enough to secure the championship once again. But about your other question – is there a better way to go than with such a bang?”_

The heat takes a bigger toll on him than it did last year and Daniel faces the inevitability of growing _old_.  
He wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, damning the rule of professionalism expected from a TV presenter, which requires long trousers and a buttoned up shirt. The earphone itches uncomfortably and his feet are hot in the dress shoes.  
It took Sky four years to accept him rolling up his shirt sleeves and revealing his tattoos on live television. He did it anyway and by now everyone is used to the ink – a scattered pattern of memories nurtured and grown over the decades. 

A helmet underneath a silver gloriole for his deceased parents joined the angel on his arm.  
The three black rings on his wrist for his titles.  
A caricature of a honey badger on his calf after he retired.  
A caricature of a lion directly next to it when he turned forty.  
Some very important dates on the inside of his elbow.  
The birth of his baby girl.  
The birth of his baby boy.  
_Maybe I’ll add today_ , he thinks and knows he won’t, at least not in the near future.

He gets startled by the beeping in his earphone and Romain’s voice.  
“Alright, Daniel, you should head to Parc Fermé. The last five laps are on.”  
The French accent is still thick, but it got calmer with age.  
Daniel smirks and catches a quick glance of Max’s RB, matt blue in the sparkling flash lights, before he signals his team to follow him.  


The paddocks are still more or less the same around the globe, the same posh and elegant women, business man impressing partners (or rivals), kids having the best days of their lives.  
Daniel nods at Sebastian and Kimi, who lean against the Ferrari garage wall. They are both regular visitors to the races. Not actively anymore, but to watch their sons carry on their fathers’ friendship on track.  
“Hey, Daniel, do you have any news on what he’s going to do?” Seb yells across the lane and Daniel waves with his Microphone, walking backwards and shrugging.  
“I hope, he’ll tell us after the race.” He smirks. _Just like he did tell me yesterday_.

The cars look different. As expected the sport had fended off becoming fully electric, but modern technology allowed better fuelling and charging batteries during the pit stops. Lewis had tried to explain the efficiency and contribution to pollution control to Daniel various times, but he had zoned out again and again.  
_I’m done with all that. Let the younger ones figure it out._

He passes his late garage, nods at Carlos who just lifts a hand before concentrating on the huge screens again, papaya-coloured headphones draping his slightly grizzled curls. The McLaren boss is too busy conducting his team to take any further notice of Daniel.

They met up yesterday, anyway, just like they do every year in Abu Dhabi, before the winter break pulls them apart and scatters them all over Europe again, some of them forever.  
Daniel had a great conversation with Nico and funny enough Kevin had joined them, beard now even lighter than it had been back during their active career. Daniel and Max lost it at the notion that Kevin named his new born puppy Mars and Nico admitted he called his new dog Anna, ever since his niece is a huge “Frozen” fan. Neither the German nor the Dane got the irony of it.

Lewis talked to Seb for hours on end, mostly about family life and how his kids are acting up on him more than ever. Sebastian gave advice, biting back a chuckle and the comment Lewis should wait until they start dating.  
Kimi, after three drinks, exchanged anecdotes with Valtteri from the time they’ve been with the Finnish military. Valtteri’s eyes grew bigger and bigger and in the end he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I’m so glad, you weren’t in my platoon!” into his pint.  
Even Charles and Max had spent the evening at the same table, Daniel’s hand on Max’s thigh underneath the tablecloth kept the sharp-tongued Dutch in check.  
“It’s not worth fighting over. Think of tomorrow, babe. Think of our plan.” Daniel had murmured and caught a reluctant but knowing smile on full purple lips. It had creased his eyes and made tiniest wrinkles appear around his mouth, just like it has done for the past three decades. The wrinkles dug deeper over the years, hairline slightly lighter than it used to be and still the most beautiful sight in the world to Daniel.

Daniel shakes his head and enters the Parc Fermé unhindered and watches the last two laps of the Grand Prix on one of the many screens lining the paddock.  
He nods at Checo on his way to the press pen, twirling his microphone with a Mexican flag in his hands.  
It’s funny how they all come back sooner or later. The addiction to speed and adrenaline never ceases to attract them. Daniel still runs a brewery and took over a bigger role in marketing and managing. And he started a business on his own a while back, bought properties outside of L.A. and Perth and hosts events, concerts, sport tournaments. He added a racing tracks last year and he can’t wait for the launch of this next great chapter in his life. Still, after years of traveling and planning events and meeting people and setting up foundations for various causes, he’s back in the paddock again. 

Just as the race leader enters his final lap Daniel thinks of the moment the smell vanished. It was like a punch to the gut, complete silence and emptiness, when he put up his laundry and realized, that none of his shirts carry the scent of fuel anymore. He washed it out of his hair the day he got out of a race car for the last time. The sheets in his bed smell of detergent and his perfume. Daniel sat on the floor of his living room and felt like having finished a really good book. Richer in every way and at the same time hollow with nothing to do. Suddenly he had all the time in the world and no clue what to do with it.  
It took him weeks and long evenings talking to his mother to find a purpose.  
He made a list and started to work it through one step after the other.  
Today will be his final one.

He checks his phone and sends a message to the babysitter asking whether Emilia and Julian already went to bed or Clarissa allowed them to stay awake to watch the race. His watch is set on Monegasque time and he doubts his children are still awake at this late hour. 

Then another beeping in his earphone and he sees the three cars enter parc fermé, a red Ferrari, a blue Red Bull and a yellow Renault.  
Jack is the first to jump out of his Renault and into his team’s arms to celebrate the second place in the race and fourth in the overall constructor’s championship. Mick and Max share a long hug, before Mick – the spitting image of his father with his bright blue eyes, clad in Ferrari-red – turns around to receive congratulations from his mother and sister. And then he leans down to squeeze his father’s hand, who’s sitting in the wheelchair but towers over everyone around with the inexplicable amount of pride he exudes. Ever since Michael’s reasonable recovery he’s been to almost every one of his son’s races and Daniel swallows around the lump in his throat at the sight just like he does every time he sees them together.  
Max snaps him out of his thoughts, appearing by his side as a sweaty, beaming pile of exhausted happiness.  
“Hey.”  
“Hey, champ.”  
And they hug each other, like they did so many times already and it’s the last time today. Daniel smiles as Max clings to him for a split second longer than it would be considered appropriate, before pulling away and nodding. It’s a promise, Daniel didn’t know, he needed but that’s very much appreciated, as he lifts the mic and feels his hands trembling.  
“Max… Maximus… Seventh title, congratulations!” _Babe_. “How does it feel?”  
Max chuckles and shrugs and Daniel wants to kiss him on the spot.  
“Thanks, Daniel. I mean, it’s unbelievable. Just wow…”  
Daniel smirks and licks his lips. _I love you, but you’re horrible to interview…_  
“Charles had a difficult race with the puncture after the contact with George. Was it that moment in the 22th lap that decided the title fight in your point of view?” Max thinks about it for a second and shakes his head slowly.  
“No. I didn’t see it, actually. The team told me a couple of laps later, but it’s Charles, so… I mean, he was dead last and fought back to ninth-“  
“Eighth, after George got a penalty for the contact.”  
Max laughs his raspy and high laugh, the years couldn’t faze.  
“Mercedes getting a penalty, signs and wonders. Nah, just joking, ahm, it’s Charles. He can drive any car and you always have to be prepared to fight him, especially with the top teams being so close together right now.”  
“-which is a good transition, thanks, Max, because the field is incredibly tight up there. It didn’t look that good in the first few races, before the race in Sweden you’ve been only fifth, followed by that incredible sprint to the finish line, sacking points in the two-digit range every race. How happy are you about that third place now?”

“To be honest, Hannah came up to me after the summer break and said ‘No worries, Max, you’ll make it seven in the end’ and… what can I say, she’s always been such an amazing team principle throughout the years and this team has made everything possible. Every last victory and the quick repairing’s when I crashed in qualy in Monaco and Baku… not so well done, Baku…”  
They share a laugh and the memory of that special night over a decade ago, that kick-started everything with a heated argument and a hot kiss shared behind that medieval brick wall. _It’s the last move now, make it stick._  
“No, honestly… Their dedication was unbelievable and it’s been a pleasure to work with every single member of the team, really…”  
“That’s a lot of past tense here, Max, any news about the contract situation you’d like to spill now?”  
_I’m sorry, I have to ask…_  
“Wait and see, Daniel, wait and see.”  
He winks and leaves for the podium procedure.  
_I love you, too._

Daniel interviews Jack, already soaked in something glittery that smells suspiciously like raspberry syrup after the Renault team with the friendly assistance of a certain Alex Thomson had emptied a bucket of sticky sweetness over his head. Team principle Nico Hülkenberg looks very tired, standing in the background.  
“What’s that all about, Jack?” Daniel can just do dodge the hug and laughs loudly, when Jack grins and _eek_ s.  
“Yeah, well, I’m going to be a dad in the winter break and…” he tries to wipe his hands, but everything is covered in pink glitter and he just smears it into his black race suit even more. “Apparently it’s going to be a daughter. Iiih, that tastes horrible…”  
Daniel shakes his head and laughs.  
“Alright, do you even want to talk about the race?”  
“Not really, man, sorry… Haha, see you around!”  
And with that, the forty year old Brit dives into the celebrating Renault crew again, spreads glitter everywhere and ends up wrapped up in a kiss with Alex worthy of a film. 

Daniel scoffs, when Nico grabs his driver and pushes him towards the main building.  
“Kids…” he mutters on his way back and Daniel clicks his tongue. _I wish I could have done it like that… But I will._

Mick is his last interview guest and it’s as if someone turned back the time and it’s Michael he’s asking that questions. It’s the same smirk and laugh, when he congratulates him on the win.  
“I’m just sorry for Charles… it was really close, but that’s the way it is sometimes.”  
“Highs and lows, mh?” Daniel smiles at the younger Schumacher and gets a wide grin in return.  
“Absolutely, yeah. I’m just happy, I could end this season on a high note, it’s something I can feed of during the long winter break.”  
“I assume, you’re going to spend the holidays at home?”  
“Yeah, back in Germany, do some track riding with my sister and… yeah, maybe my dad will be able to sit in a kart again, so we might take some hot laps together.”  
The happy glint in Mick’s eyes makes Daniel swallow the last question he wanted to ask him. _Who’d want to talk about the future and rivalries, if the present happens to be utterly perfect?_

They part, Daniel switches off the mic and then the waiting begins anew. While the drivers gather in the cool-down-room, Daniel loiters about the bar area and watches the silent conversations on one of the many screens lining the walls. Jack and Mick banter and Mick lets him even smear a pink glittery patch to his cheek. _Kids will be kids…_  
Max looks beautiful. Done with the world and tired to the bones, but nevertheless beautiful, as he wipes his face and compensates his water loss with huge gulps from his water bottle.  
His hair is a sweaty mess, just as it always is, whenever they emerge from underneath the soft bedsheets on a lazy Sunday morning, all tangled limbs and hoarse giggling, as if they’d still been the teenager they once were – and still very much are at heart.  
Of course, Max has grown older, matured and aged, but as much as Daniel hates this flowery language, Max has matured like a good wine, developed an elegance in winning and dignity in losing, he has lacked in the first years of his career.  
Daniel gets pulled back into reality by his buzzing phone. He squints at the screen, curses his slowly but steadily declining eyesight and answers the call with a light smirk.  
“You miss me already, mh?”  
“Always, mate. He’s still going to do it, huh?”  
“What? You watching it?”  
Michael’s low laughter reaches his ear from the other side of the world and it makes Daniel’s grin grow even wider.  
“Hey, what do you think of me?! It’s the biggest moment of his career, your life, if not the greatest moment in Motorsport!”  
“Yeah, thanks, that soothes my nerves…”  
The smile wanes from Michael’s voice and Daniel imagines his old friend and trainer sitting up a little on his wooden bench on his terrace in Perth.  
“Daniel, he’s chosen you a long time ago. This is just the next logical step for the both of you. You got everything?” Daniel fumbles for the small box in his trouser pocket and nods despite Michael not being able to see it. “Then there is nothing that could go wrong. It might be a tough couple of days come tomorrow, but as soon as you’ve done it, you’ll see it’s worth it.”  
“Dinner dates. Going shopping with the kids. Not worrying about the way I look at him.”  
“Exactly. Although… you’ve been pretty much heart-eying him half your life, so…”  
“Haha, fuck off.”  
They laugh at that and somehow it unties the knot, which had been making breathing difficult for a while now.  
“Okay. Thanks, man.”  
“Anytime. Come visit me, okay? I mean it, take your man and the kids with you, they are not getting spoiled enough.”  
“You bet.”  
He ends the call and wipes his face.  
The loud clamor outside indicates the gates have been opened and thousands of people storm towards the podium to see the celebrations.  
_If they only knew, what else would be celebrated in a few minutes time._

Max receives his trophy with a proud grin, although he feels like crying from everything being just too much to handle. It’s his last time on a podium and he tries to save every sensation, the cold metal in his hands, the screaming fans, the myriads of camera lenses clicking, the smell of burned rubber from the donuts, they did earlier. He sniffles and stares at the floor, as his vision blurs with unshed tears of everything he’s trying to file under this one last time as an active driver. He feels Mick draping the Dutch flag around his shoulders and throws a glance at the German.  
“Danke.”  
“Kein Problem. Es war eine Ehre, Max, wirklich. Es ist die richtige Entscheidung.”  
Max blinks at that, German almost strange to his ears after all those years away from the Netherlands. _But is he right?_ he thinks and gulps, as the German hymn starts to play and he quickly takes off his mandatory orange cap. _Is it the right decision to leave all this behind?_  
He stares into the crowd and feels the tears start to form in his eyes.  
Racing has been his life.  
It has put everything else into its shadow.  
It’s what he’s been doing every single day for the past 35 years.  
Things changed back in 2016, when he truly got to know a certain Australian, and once again in 2030, when said Australian’s hung up his leathers and everything that entailed.  
He throws a glance back behind the provisional wall lining the podium and locks eyes with Daniel.  
So fucking beautiful and the father of my kids.  
They nod simultaneously and have a silent affirmative conversation via exchanged smiles and something as simple as eye contact, which has never been just eye contact between them. _Not for a single day._ Because he loves him and he’s about to tell the world. 

His trail of thoughts gets cut off with the last note of the Italian hymn fading into thundering applause and champagne hitting his face, as Jack’s aim proofs immensely accurate once again. _He’s had a lot of practice._  
He leaves the party to the young Schumacher and Jack, while he just looks down at the illuminated track and hears the fireworks exploding above them in the black sky.  
The tear escapes his eyes now and mingles with the prickling champagne on his cheek.  
He’s about to break down and cry, when he hears a faint “Super Max!” reverberating through the crowd, swelling into a deafening chant. He laughs, wipes his eyes and flips the bird at Lando ( _Of course, who else would have the audacity?!_ ), who conducts the partying personnel of what seems to be everyone involved in the sport. Red, blue, yellow, orange, grey, silver, pink.  
Max waves at them and takes a bow. 

He looks back at Daniel, who’s fake-dancing to the tune with wide arm movements and bobbing curls.  
Max nods at his assistant and is handed a microphone, which makes the crowd go nuts.  
_My father would be disgusted by that_ , Max thinks and a lopsided grin splits his lips. _May he rot in hell._

“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I know, this is an unusual thing to do, standing here and giving a speech, but… damn, it’s my last chance to do it, because this was my last race. I’m not extending my contract with Red Bull Racing. I’m retiring.”  
He snickers and sniffles, when the words reach the crowd and make everyone applaud in unison. It makes it sink in with himself, too, and he bites back the tears. He’s still fighting with himself and sorting out his words, when Mick pats his back from behind and Jack – now halfway clean after his champagne shower – nods with a broad grin.  
“First there are a few people, I’d like to thank. Christian for being like a father to me, supportive and everything else.” He searches the crowd for his former boss, but there are just too many people to recognize him. “Hannah, who’s the most incredible strategist and mastermind. This” he points at his trophy “and every other one, I’ve ever won, belongs to you. Thank you.”  
He sees his teammate in the distance, Marcus holding onto Victoria’s thighs, as she sits on his shoulders and waves a Dutch flag over their heads. Marcus beams up at him despite his reasonably bad result and a DNF in the first half of the race.  
“Yo, Armstrong, you still owe me a beer!” The former Art GP driver laughs at that and nearly drops Victoria, whose yelp makes Max laugh wholeheartedly.  
And with that he turns around and stares at Daniel. He looks back at his mechanics, most of them teary-eyed and standing arm in arm.  
“Thanks, boys and girls.” He says, wipes his eyes and grins boyishly, before lifting the mic again.  
“This team has given me so much.” Daniel can see, how close he is to leave it at that curt truth, before he sees it break through anyway. _Come on, babe, you’ve almost done it…_

“Especially for the opportunity back in 2016, when I started to race against, but most of all _with_ someone called Daniel Ricciardo.”  
There’s a loud round of applause, when Daniel appears next to him, all wide grin and excitement.  
“Some of you might still know him, that loud, boisterous kid from Australia. He… you…” _Just look at me._  
Somehow their mental connection works even with the whole world listening, because Max looks straight at Daniel and takes his hand. A rumble goes through the crow and it makes Max smirk smugly.  
_Keep pushing. One last time._

“Daniel has changed my life and there is something I want to clarify now.”  
_Remember, leave the kids out of it. No kiss. Just the truth._  
His breathing hitches, as he drowns in the ebony of Daniel’s eyes, solid earth and warm soil hoisting him up more than any title could. 

“We’ve raced against each other for over a decade, in blue and yellow and red, but with him it was always more than that and with the chapter of my racing career coming to a close, I’m going to open up a new one – an exciting and thrilling chapter of… of private happiness with everything it entails.”  
It’s not what he wanted to say in the beginning, but it ends up being just as true.  
He looks at Daniel again and nods, before facing the cameras.  
He squares his shoulders and smiles proudly. 

“My name is Max Verstappen, I was up to this day a Formula One driver and I’m in a gay relationship with Daniel Ricciardo.” 

Max lets the air leave his lungs in a quivering sigh and closes his eyes. Daniel’s hand holds his own in a vice like grip, before he tugs him closer and whispers something into his ear.  
“Hey, do you feel up to taking the next step in our now openly gay relationship and marry me?”  
Max is taken by full surprise, when Daniel slips a single ring onto his finger and winks at him. Max’s mouth drops open. There is no kneeling, because neither of them sees this as a defeat and they keep submission very much private, thank you very much. There is no waiting for an answer, because Daniel _knows_ Max is up to forever with him. _Forever._  
There is a kiss, though.  
There is a breathtaking kiss in the midst of camera’s flashing and deafening applause and champagne, when the podium his high-jacked by old companions. 

It’s the picture plastering newspapers all over the world in the next morning: Two former racing drivers tangled up in a loving kiss on the podium.  
At times the heading is gonzo, sometimes it’s calculatedly political, sometimes it’s downright homophobic.

They don’t care. 

When Max opens up his eyes the next morning he's cradled up in Daniel’s warmth and gets poked awake by Julian's tiny and pointed fingers.  
When they have breakfast and Emilia’s had her daily screaming fit, they meet in the living room. Max carries his daughter around to calm her down and Daniel catches them both in a careful hug, before pressing a kiss to his fiancé’s lips.  
“How are you feeling, Babe?”  
And Max lights up the dimly lit living room with a sunny grin and shakes his head, giving in to using the swearword and ready to hazard the consequences, which end up to be a laugh and a nudge against his shoulder.  
“Fucking perfect.”

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> I think, you don't really need a transition for this, but I'll include one just in case:  
> “Danke.” - "Thank you."  
> “Kein Problem. Es war eine Ehre, Max, wirklich. Es ist die richtige Entscheidung.” - "You're welcome. It's been an honour, Max, honestly. It is the right decision."
> 
> That’s it.  
> I hope, you liked it, let me know!
> 
> You can always find me on tumblr: **charonaraccoon**


End file.
